Not only had nerves and speech failed him as they were wont,
but in his cloudy soul there had risen, even while Marcella was
speaking, the inevitable suspicion which dogs the relations of the
poor towards the richer class.
but in his cloudy soul there had risen, even while Marcella was
speaking, the inevitable suspicion which dogs the relations of the
poor towards the richer class.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v26 - Tur to Wat
” said Mrs.
Jellison cheerfully. “Poor old Patton! he do get slow on his
legs, don't you, Patton ? But there, there's no helping it when
you're turned of eighty. ”
And she turned upon him a bright, philosophic eye; being
herself a young thing not much over seventy, and energetic ac-
cordingly. Mrs. Jellison passed for the village wit, and was at
least talkative and excitable beyond her fellows.
« Well, you don't seem to mind getting old, Mrs. Jellison,” said
Marcella, smiling at her.
The eyes of all the old people round their tea-table were
by now drawn irresistibly to Miss Boyce in the chimney corner,-
to her slim grace, and the splendor of her large black hat and
feathers. The new squire's daughter had so far taken them
by surprise. Some of them, however, were by now in the second
stage of critical observation,- none the less critical because fur-
tive and inarticulate.
"Ah ? ” said Mrs. Jellison interrogatively, with a high, long-
drawn note peculiar to her. “Well, I've never found you get
forrarder wi' snarlin' over what you can't help. And there's
mercies. When you've had a husband in his bed for fower year,
miss, and he's took at last, you'll know. ”
She nodded emphatically. Marcella laughed.
"I know you were very fond of him, Mrs. Jellison, and looked
after him very well too. "
"Oh, I don't say nothin' about that,” said Mrs. Jellison hastily.
“But all the same you kin reckon it up, and see for yoursen.
Fower year - an' fire up-stairs, an' fire down-stairs, an' fire all
night, an' soomthin' allus wanted. An' he such an objeck afore
he died! It do seem like a holiday now to sit a bit. ”
>
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## p. 15648 (#602) ##########################################
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MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
And she crossed her hands on her lap with a long breath of
content. A lock of gray hair had escaped from her bonnet,
across her wrinkled forehead, and gave her a half-careless rakish
air. Her youth of long ago- a youth of mad spirits, and of an
extraordinary capacity for physical enjoyment - seemed at times
to pierce to the surface again, even through her load of years.
But in general she had a dreamy, sunny look, as of one fed with
humorous fancies, but disinclined often to the trouble of com-
municating them.
“Well, I missed my daughter, I kin tell you,” said Mrs.
Brunt with a sigh, “though she took a deal more lookin' after
nor your good man, Mrs. Jellison. ”
Mrs. Brunt was a gentle, pretty old woman, who lived in
another of the village almshouses, next door to the Pattons, and
was always ready to help her neighbors in their domestic toils.
Her last remaining daughter, the victim of a horrible spinal dis-
ease, had died some nine or ten months before the Boyces arrived
at Mellor. Marcella had already heard the story several times;
but it was part of her social gift that she was a good listener to
such things even at the twentieth hearing.
«You wouldn't have her back, though,” she said gently, turn-
ing towards the speaker.
“No, I wouldn't have her back, miss,” said Mrs. Brunt, rais-
ing her hand to brush away a tear,– partly the result of feeling,
-
partly of a long-established habit. « But I do miss her nights
terrible! Mother, ain't it ten o'clock ? -- mother, look at the
clock, do; — mother! ain't it time for my stuff, mother ? oh, I do
hope it is. '
That was her stuff, miss, to make her sleep. And
when she'd got it, she'd groan — you'd think she couldn't be
-
asleep, and yet she was, dead-like — for two hours.
I didn't get
no rest with her, and now I don't seem to get no rest without
her. "
And again Mrs. Brunt put her hand up to her eyes.
"Ah, you were allus one for toilin' an' frettin',” said Mrs. Jel-
lison calmly. "A body must get through wi' it when it's there,
but I don't hold wi' thinkin' about it when it's done. ”
"I know one,” said old Patton slyly, “that fretted about her
darter when it didn't do her no good. ”
He had not spoken so far, but had sat with his hands on his
stick, a spectator of the women's humors. He was a little hunched
man, twisted and bent double with rheumatic gout,- the fruit of
(
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MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
15649
now
seventy years of field work. His small face was almost lost, dog-
like, under shaggy hair and overgrown eyebrows, both snow-white.
He had a look of irritable eagerness, seldom however expressed
in words. A sudden passion in the faded blue eyes; a quick spot
of red in his old cheeks: these Marcella had often noticed in him,
as though the flame of some inner furnace leapt. He had been
a Radical and a rebel once in old rick-burning days, long before
he lost the power in his limbs, and came down to be thankful
for one of the parish almshouses. To his social betters he was
a quiet and peaceable old man, well aware of the cakes
and ale to be got by good manners; but in the depths of him
there were reminiscences and the ghosts of passions, which were
still stirred sometimes by causes not always intelligible to the
bystander.
He had rarely, however, physical energy enough to bring any
emotion even of mere worry at his physical ills — to the birth.
The pathetic silence of age enwrapped him more and more. Still
he could gibe the women sometimes, especially Mrs. Jellison, who
was in general too clever for her company.
“Oh, you may talk, Patton! ” said Mrs. Jellison with a little
flash of excitement. " You do like to have your talk, don't you !
Well, I dare say I was orkard with Isabella. I won't go for to
say I wasn't orkard, for I was. She should ha' used me to 't
before, if she wor took that way. She and I had just settled
down comfortable after my old man went; and I didn't see no
sense in it, an' I don't now. She might ha' let the men alone.
She'd seen enough o' the worrit of 'em. ”
"Well, she did well for hersen," said Mrs. Brunt, with the
same gentle melancholy. “She married a stiddy man
as 'ull
keep her well all her time, and never let her want for noth-
ink. ”
"A sour, wooden-faced chap as iver I knew,” said Mrs. Jelli-
son grudgingly. "I don't have nothink to say to him, nor he
to me. He thinks hissen the Grand Turk, he do, since they
gi'en him his uniform, and made him full keeper. A nassty,
domineerin' sort, I calls him. He's allus makin' bad blood wi'
the yoong fellers when he don't need. It's the way he's got wi'
him. But I don't make no account of him, an' I let him see 't. ”
All the tea-party grinned except Mrs. Hurd. The village was
well acquainted with the feud between Mrs. Jellison and her
son-in-law, George Westall, who had persuaded Isabella Jellison,
XXVI–979
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## p. 15650 (#604) ##########################################
15650
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
(
at the mature age of thirty-five, to leave her mother and marry
him; and was now one of Lord Maxwell's keepers, with good pay,
and an excellent cottage some little way out of the village. Mrs.
Jellison had never forgiven her daughter for deserting her, and
was on lively terms of hostility with her son-in-law: but their
only child, little Johnnie, had found the soft spot in his grand-
mother; and her favorite excitement in life, now that he was
four years old, was to steal him from his parents and feed him
on the things of which Isabella most vigorously disapproved.
Mrs. Hurd, as has been said, did not smile. At the mention
of Westall, she got up hastily and began to put away the tea
things.
Marcella meanwhile had been sitting thoughtful.
“You say Westall makes bad blood with the young men, Mrs.
Jellison ? ” she said, looking up. "Is there much poaching in this
village now, do you think ? »
There was a dead silence. Mrs. Hurd was at the other end
of the cottage with her back to Marcella; at the question, her
hands paused an instant in their work. The eyes of all the old
people — of Patton and his wife, of Mrs. Jellison, and pretty Mrs.
Brunt -- were fixed on the speaker; but nobody said a word, not
even Mrs. Jellison. Marcella colored.
"Oh, you needn't suppose – ” she said, throwing her beautiful
«
head back, “you needn't suppose that I care about the game,
or that I would ever be mean enough to tell anything that was
told me. I know it does cause a great deal of quarreling and
bad blood. I believe it does here - and I should like to know
more about it. I want to make up my mind what to think. Of
course, my father has got his land and his own opinions. And
Lord Maxwell has too. But I am not bound to think like either
of them,- I should like you to understand that. It seems to me
right about all such things that people should inquire, and find
out for themselves. ”
Still silence. Mrs. Jellison's mouth twitched, and she threw a
sly provocative glance at old Patton, as though she would have
liked to poke him in the ribs. But she was not going to help
him out; and at last the one male in the company found himself
obliged to clear his throat for reply.
“We're old folks, most on us, miss, 'cept Mrs. Hurd. We
don't hear talk o' things now like as we did when we
younger. If you ast Mr. Harden, he'll tell you, I dessay. ”
were
>
## p. 15651 (#605) ##########################################
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
WARD
15651
Patton allowed himself an inward chuckle. Even Mrs. Jelli-
son, he thought, must admit that he knew a thing or two as to
the best way of dealing with the gentry.
But Marcella fixed him with her bright frank eyes.
“I had rather ask in the village,” she said. “If
"If you don't
know how it is now, Mr. Patton, tell me how it used to be when
you were young. Was the preserving very strict about here?
Were there often fights with the keepers, long ago ? - in my
grandfather's days ? And do you think men poached because
they were hungry, or because they wanted sport ? ”
Patton looked at her fixedly a moment, undecided: then her
strong nervous youth seemed to exercise a kind of compulsion on
him; perhaps too the pretty courtesy of her manner. He cleared
his throat again, and tried to forget Mrs. Jellison, who would be
sure to let him hear of it again, whatever he said.
“Well, I can't answer for 'em, miss, I'm sure; but if you
ast me, I b’lieve ther's a bit o' boath in it. Yer see it's not in
human natur, when a man's young and 's got his blood up, as
he shouldn't want ter have his sport with the wild creeturs. Per-
haps he see 'em when he's going to the wood with a wood cart,
or he cooms across 'em in the turnips, — wounded birds, you
understan', miss, perhaps the day after the gentry 'as been
,
bangin' at 'em all day. An' he don't see, not for the life of him,
why he shouldn't have 'em. Ther's been lots an' lots for the rich
folks, an' he don't see why ee shouldn't have a few arter they've
enjoyed theirselves. And mebbe he's eleven shillin' a week,-
an' two-threy little chillen,- you understan', miss ? ”
“Of course I understand! ” said Marcella eagerly, her dark
cheek Aushing. “Of course I do! But there's a good deal of
game given away in these parts, isn't there? I know Lord Max-
well does, and they say Lord Winterbourne gives all his laborers
rabbits, almost as many as they want. "
Her questions wound old Patton up as though he had been
a disused clock. He began to feel a whirr among his creaking
wheels, a shaking of all his rusty mind.
"Perhaps they do, miss,” he said; and his wife saw that he
was beginning to tremble. "I dessay they do—I don't say
nothink agen it though theer's none of it cooms my way. But
that isn't all the rights on it nayther; no, that it ain't. The
laborin' man ee's glad enough to get a hare or a rabbit for his
eatin'; but there's more in it nor that, miss. Ee's allus in the
»
## p. 15652 (#606) ##########################################
15652
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
fields, that's where it is; ee can't help seein' the hares and the
rabbits a-comin' in and out o' the woods, if it were iver so. Ee
knows ivery run of ivery one on 'em; if a hare's started furthest
corner o'ť field, he can tell yer whar she'll git in by, because
he's allus there, you see, miss, an' it's the only thing he's got to
take his mind off like. And then he sets a snare or two, -- an'
he gits very sharp at settin' on 'em,- an' he'll go out nights
for the sport of it. Ther isn't many things ee's got to liven
him up; an' he takes his chances o’goin' to jail; it's wuth it,
ee thinks. »
The old man's hands on his stick shook more and more visi-
bly. Bygones of his youth had come back to him.
“Oh, I know! I know ! ” cried Marcella, with an accent half
of indignation, half of despair. It's the whole wretched system.
It spoils those who've got, and those who haven't got. And
there'll be no mending it till the people get the land back again,
and till the rights on it are common to all. ”
"My! she do speak up, don't she ? ” said Mrs. Jellison, grin-
ning again at her companions. Then stooping forward with one
of her wild movements, she caught Marcella's arm: “I'd like to
hear yer tell that to Lord Maxwell, miss. I likes a roompus, I
do. ”
Marcella flushed and laughed.
“I wouldn't mind saying that or anything else to Lord Max-
well,” she said proudly. "I'm not ashamed of anything I think. ”
“No, I'll bet you ain't," said Mrs. Jellison, withdrawing her
hand. “Now then, Patton, you say what you thinks. You ain't
got no vote now you're in the parish houses — I minds that.
The quality don't trouble you at 'lection times.
man, Muster Wharton, as is goin' round so free, promisin' yer the
sun out o' the sky, iv yer'll only vote for him, so th' men say
ee don't coom an’ set down along o' you an' me, an' cocker of us
up as he do Joe Simmons or Jim Hurd here. But that don't
matter. Yur thinkin's yur own, any way. "
But she nudged him in vain. Patton had suddenly run down, ,
and there was no more to be got out of him.
Not only had nerves and speech failed him as they were wont,
but in his cloudy soul there had risen, even while Marcella was
speaking, the inevitable suspicion which dogs the relations of the
poor towards the richer class. This young lady, with her strange
talk, was the new squire's daughter. And the village had already
>
This yoong
»
## p. 15653 (#607) ##########################################
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
15653
(
a
made up its mind that Richard Boyce was a poor sort, and
hard sort” too, in his landlord capacity. He wasn't going to be
any improvement on his brother -- not a haporth! What was the
good of this young woman talking as she did, when there were
three summonses as he, Patton, heard tell — just taken out by
the sanitary inspector against Mr. Boyce for bad cottages ? And
not a farthing given away in the village neither, except perhaps
the bits of food that the young lady herself brought down to
the village now and then,- for which no one, in truth, felt any
cause to be particularly grateful. Besides, what did she mean
by asking questions about the poaching? Old Patton knew as
well as anybody else in the village, that during Robert Boyce's
last days, and after the death of his sportsman son, the Mellor
estate had become the haunt of poachers from far and near; and
that the trouble had long since spread into the neighboring prop-
erties, so that the Winterbourne and Maxwell keepers regarded
it their most arduous business to keep watch on the men of
Mellor. Of course the young woman knew it all; and she
and her father wanted to know more. That was why she talked.
Patton hardened himself against the creeping ways of the qual-
ity.
“I don't think naught,” he said roughly, in answer to Mrs.
Jellison. “Thinkin' won't come atwixt me and the parish coffin
when I'm took. I've no call to think, I tell yer. ”
Marcella's chest heaved with indignant feeling.
“Oh, but Mr. Patton! ” she cried, leaning forward to him,
“won't it comfort you a bit, even if you can't live to see it, to
think there's a better time coming ? There must be. People
can't go on like this always, - hating each other and trampling on
each other. They're beginning to see it now, they are! When I
was living in London, the persons I was with talked and thought
of it all day. Some day, whenever the people choose, - for
they've got the power now they've got the vote,- there'll be
land for everybody; and in every village there'll be a council to
manage things, and the laborer will count for just as much as
the squire and the parson, and he'll be better educated and bet-
ter fed, and care for many things he doesn't care for now. But
all the same, if he wants sport and shooting, it will be there for
him to get. For everybody will have a chance and a turn, and
there'll be no bitterness between classes, and no hopeless pining
and misery as there is now! ”
»
((
## p. 15654 (#608) ##########################################
15654
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
The girl broke off, catching her breath. It excited her to say
these things to these people, to these poor tottering old things
who had lived out their lives to the end under the pressure of
an iron system, and had no lien on the future, whatever paradise
it might bring. Again, the situation had something foreseen
and dramatic in it. She saw herself, as the preacher, sitting on
her stool beside the poor grate; she realized as a spectator the
figures of the women and the old man played on by the firelight,
the white, bare, damp-stained walls of the cottage, and in the
background the fragile though still comely form of Minta Hurd,
who was standing with her back to the dresser and her head
bent forward, listening to the talk, while her fingers twisted the
straw she plaited eternally from morning till night for a wage of
about is. 3d. a week.
Her mind was all aflame with excitement and defiance,
defiance of her father, Lord Maxwell, Aldous Raeburn. Let him
come, her friend, and see for himself what she thought it right
to do and say in this miserable village. Her soul challenged
him, longed to provoke him! Well, she was soon to meet him,
and in a new and more significant relation and environment.
The fact made her perception of the whole situation the more
rich and vibrant.
Patton, while these broken thoughts and sensations were cours-
ing through Marcella's head, was slowly revolving what she had
been saying, and the others were waiting for him.
At last he rolled his tongue round his dry lips, and delivered
himself by a final effort.
« Them as likes, miss, may believe as how things are going to
happen that way, but yer won't ketch me! Them as 'ave got
'ull keep,” — he let his stick sharply down on the floor,—“an' them
as 'aven't got 'ull 'ave to go without and lump it, as long as
you're alive, miss: you mark my words! ”
“O Lor', you wor allus one for makin' a poor mouth, Pat-
ton! ” said Mrs. Jellison. She had been sitting with her arms
folded across her chest, part absent, part amused, part mali-
cious. « The young lady speaks beautiful, just like a book, she
do. An' she's likely to know a deal better nor poor persons like
you and me. All I kin say is, - if there's goin' to be dividin' up
of other folks' property when I'm gone, I hope George Westall
won't get nothink of it! He's bad enough as 'tis. Isabella 'ud
have a fine time if ee took to drivin' of his carriage.
>
»
## p. 15655 (#609) ##########################################
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
15655
»
>
»
The others laughed out, Marcella at their head; and Mrs. Jel-
lison subsided, the corners of her mouth still twitching, and her
eyes shining as though a host of entertaining notions were troop-
ing through her, which however she preferred to amuse herself
with rather than the public. Marcella looked at Patton thought-
fully.
“You've been all your life in this village, haven't you, Mr.
Patton ? ” she asked him.
« Born top o' Witchett's Hill, miss. An' my wife here, she
wor born just a house or two further along, an' we two been
married sixty-one year come next March. ”
He had resumed his usual almshouse tone, civil and a little
plaintive. His wife behind him smiled gently at being spoken
of. She had a long fair face, and white hair surmounted by a
battered black bonnet; a mouth set rather on one side, and a
more observant and refined air than most of her neighbors. She
sighed while she talked, and spoke in a delicate quaver.
“D'ye know, miss,” said Mrs. Jellison, pointing to Mrs. Pat-
ton, as she kep' school when she was young ? ”
“Did you, Mrs. Patton ? " asked Marcella in her tone of sym-
pathetic interest. « The school wasn't very big then, I suppose ? ”
“About forty, miss,” said Mrs. Patton with a sigh. «There
was eighteen the rector paid for, and eighteen Mr. Boyce paid
for, and the rest paid for themselves. ”
Her voice dropped gently, and she sighed again like one
weighted with an eternal fatigue.
"And what did you teach them ?
“Well, I taught them the plaitin', miss, and as much readin'
and writin' as I knew myself. It wasn't as high as it is now,
you see, miss,” and a delicate flush dawned on the old cheek,
as Mrs. Patton threw a glance round her companions as though
appealing to them not to tell stories of her.
But Mrs. Jellison was implacable. "It wor she taught me,”
she said, nodding at Marcella and pointing sideways to Mrs.
Patton. “She had a queer way wi' the hard words, I can tell
When she couldn't tell 'em herself she'd never own
up to it. "Say Jerusalem, my dear, and pass on. That's what
she'd say, she would, sure's you're alive! I've heard her do it
times. An' when Isabella an’ me used to read the Bible, nights,
I'd allus rayther do 't than be beholden to me own darter. It
gets yer through, anyway. ”
»
(
yer, miss.
(
## p. 15656 (#610) ##########################################
15656
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
(c
>
-
(
»
"Well, it wor a good word,” said Mrs. Patton, blushing and
mildly defending herself. “It didn't do none of yer any harm. ”
“Oh, an' before her, miss, I went to a school to another woman,
as lived up Shepherd's Row. You remember her, Betsy Brunt ? »
Mrs. Brunt's worn eyes began already to gleam and sparkle.
«Yis, I recolleck very well, Mrs. Jellison. She wor Mercy
Moss; an' a goodish deal of trouble you'd use to get me into wi'
Mercy Moss, all along o' your tricks. ”
Mrs. Jellison, still with folded arms, began to rock herself
gently up and down as though to stimulate memory.
«My word, but Muster Maurice — he wor the clergyman here
then, miss — wor set on Mercy Moss. He and his wife they flat-
tered and cockered her up. Ther wor nobody like her for keepin'
school, not in their eyes — till one midsummer - she — well, she
- I don't want to say nothink onpleasant — but she transgressed,”
said Mrs. Jellison, nodding mysteriously,- triumphant however in
the unimpeachable delicacy of her language, and looking round
the circle for approval.
What do you say? " asked Marcella innocently. “What did
Mercy Moss do ? »
Mrs. Jellison's eyes danced with malice and mischief, but
her mouth shut like a vise. Patton leaned forward on his stick,
shaken with a sort of inward explosion; his plaintive wife laughed
under her breath till she must needs sigh, because laughter tired
her old bones. Mrs. Brunt gurgled gently. And finally Mrs. Jel-
lison was carried away.
"Oh, my goodness me, don't you make me tell tales o' Mercy
Moss! ” she said at last, dashing the water out of her eyes with
an excited tremulous hand. She's been dead and gone these
forty year, - married and buried mos' respeckable,- it 'ud be a
burning shame to bring up tales agen her now. Them as tittle-
tattles about dead folks needn't look to lie quiet theirselves in
their graves.
I've said it times, and I'll say it again. What are
you lookin' at me for, Betsy Brunt ? »
And Mrs. Jellison drew up suddenly with a fierce glance at
Mrs. Brunt.
«Why, Mrs. Jellison, I niver meant no offense,” said Mrs.
Brunt hastily.
“I won't stand no insinooating,” said Mrs. Jellison with
”
energy. “If you've got soomthink agen me, you may out wi' 't
anniver mind the young lady. ”
((
)
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## p. 15657 (#611) ##########################################
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
15657
(c
>
But Mrs. Brunt, much furried, retreated amid a shower of
excuses, pursued by her enemy, who was soon worrying the
whole little company as a dog worries a flock of sheep; snap-
ping here and teasing there, chattering at the top of her voice
in broad dialect as she got more and more excited, and quite as
ready to break her wit on Marcella as on anybody else. As for
the others, most of them had known little else for weeks than
alternations of toil and sickness; they were as much amused and
excited to-night by Mrs. Jellison's audacities as a Londoner is by
his favorite low comedian at his favorite music-hall. They ved
chorus to her, laughed, baited her; even old Patton was drawn
against his will into a caustic sociability.
Marcella meanwhile sat on her stool, her chin upon her hand,
and her full glowing eyes turned upon the little spectacle, absorb-
ing it all with a covetous curiosity.
The light-heartedness, the power of enjoyment, left in these
old folk, struck her dumb. Mrs. Brunt had an income of two-
and-sixpence a week, plus two loaves from the parish, and one
of the parish or charity houses,-a hovel, that is to say, of
»
one room, scarcely fit for human habitation at all. She had lost
five children, was allowed two shillings a week by two laborer
sons, and earned sixpence a week — about — by continuous work
at "the plait. ” Her husband had been run over by a farm cart
and killed; up to the time of his death his earnings averaged
about twenty-eight pounds a year. Much the same with the
Pattons. They had lost eight children out of ten, and were
now mainly supported by the wages of a daughter in service.
Mrs. Patton had of late years suffered agonies and humiliations
indescribable, from a terrible illness which the parish doctor was
quite incompetent to treat; being all through a singularly sensi-
tive woman, with a natural instinct for the decorous and the beau-
tiful.
Amazing! Starvation wages; hardships of sickness and pain;
horrors of birth and horrors of death; wholesale losses of kindred
and friends; the meanest surroundings; the most sordid cares,-
of this mingled cup of village fate every person in the room had
drunk, and drunk deep. Yet here in this autumn twilight they
laughed and chattered and joked, — weird, wrinkled children, en-
joying an hour's rough play in a clearing of the storm! Depend-
ent from birth to death on squire, parson, parish, crushed often
and ill-treated according to their own ideas, but bearing so little
## p. 15658 (#612) ##########################################
15658
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
ill-will; amusing themselves with their own tragedies even, if
they could but sit by a fire and drink a neighbor's cup of tea.
Her heart swelled and burned within her. Yes, the old
people were past hoping for; mere wreck and driftwood on the
shore, the springtide of death would soon have swept them all
into unremembered graves. But the young men and women, the
children, were they too to grow up, and grow old like these, –
the same smiling, stunted, ignobly submissive creatures ? One
woman at least would do her best with her one poor life to rouse
some of them to discontent and revolt!
DAVID AND ELISE
From "The History of David Grieve. ) Copyright 1891, by Macmillan & Co.
D
Avid stared at Elise. He had grown very pale. She too was
white to the lips. The violence and passion of her speech
had exhausted her; her hands trembled in her lap. A
wave of emotion swept through him. Her words were inso-
lently bitter: why then this impression of something wounded
and young and struggling, - at war with itself and the world, -
proclaiming loneliness and sehnsucht, while it fung anger and
reproach?
He dropped on one knee, hardly knowing what he did. Most
of the students about had left their work for a while; no one was
in sight but a gardien whose back was turned to them, and a
young man in the remote distance. He picked up a brush she
had let fall, pressed it into her reluctant hand, and laid his fore-
head against the hand for an instant.
“You misunderstand me,” he said, with a broken, breathless
utterance. "You are quite wrong — quite mistaken.
There are
not such thoughts in me as you think. The world matters noth-
ing to me either. I am alone too; I have always been alone.
You meant everything that was heavenly and kind - you must
have meant it. I am a stupid idiot! But I could be your friend
- if you would permit it. ”
He spoke with an extraordinary timidity and slowness. He
forgot all his scruples, all pride — everything. As he knelt there,
so close to her delicate slimness, to the curls on her white neck,
to the quivering lips and great defiant eyes, she seemed to him
once more a being of another clay from himself - beyond any
## p. 15659 (#613) ##########################################
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
15659
criticism his audacity could form. He dared hardly touch her;
and in his heart there swelled the first irrevocable wave of young
passion.
She raised her hand impetuously and began to paint again.
But suddenly a tear dropped on to her knee. She brushed it
away, and her wild smile broke.
« Bah! ” she said: “what a scene, what a pair of children!
What was it all about? I vow I haven't an idea. You are an
excellent farceur, Monsieur David! One can see well that you
have read George Sand. ”
He sat down on a little three-legged stool she had brought
with her, and held her box open on his knee.
Jellison cheerfully. “Poor old Patton! he do get slow on his
legs, don't you, Patton ? But there, there's no helping it when
you're turned of eighty. ”
And she turned upon him a bright, philosophic eye; being
herself a young thing not much over seventy, and energetic ac-
cordingly. Mrs. Jellison passed for the village wit, and was at
least talkative and excitable beyond her fellows.
« Well, you don't seem to mind getting old, Mrs. Jellison,” said
Marcella, smiling at her.
The eyes of all the old people round their tea-table were
by now drawn irresistibly to Miss Boyce in the chimney corner,-
to her slim grace, and the splendor of her large black hat and
feathers. The new squire's daughter had so far taken them
by surprise. Some of them, however, were by now in the second
stage of critical observation,- none the less critical because fur-
tive and inarticulate.
"Ah ? ” said Mrs. Jellison interrogatively, with a high, long-
drawn note peculiar to her. “Well, I've never found you get
forrarder wi' snarlin' over what you can't help. And there's
mercies. When you've had a husband in his bed for fower year,
miss, and he's took at last, you'll know. ”
She nodded emphatically. Marcella laughed.
"I know you were very fond of him, Mrs. Jellison, and looked
after him very well too. "
"Oh, I don't say nothin' about that,” said Mrs. Jellison hastily.
“But all the same you kin reckon it up, and see for yoursen.
Fower year - an' fire up-stairs, an' fire down-stairs, an' fire all
night, an' soomthin' allus wanted. An' he such an objeck afore
he died! It do seem like a holiday now to sit a bit. ”
>
>
## p. 15648 (#602) ##########################################
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MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
And she crossed her hands on her lap with a long breath of
content. A lock of gray hair had escaped from her bonnet,
across her wrinkled forehead, and gave her a half-careless rakish
air. Her youth of long ago- a youth of mad spirits, and of an
extraordinary capacity for physical enjoyment - seemed at times
to pierce to the surface again, even through her load of years.
But in general she had a dreamy, sunny look, as of one fed with
humorous fancies, but disinclined often to the trouble of com-
municating them.
“Well, I missed my daughter, I kin tell you,” said Mrs.
Brunt with a sigh, “though she took a deal more lookin' after
nor your good man, Mrs. Jellison. ”
Mrs. Brunt was a gentle, pretty old woman, who lived in
another of the village almshouses, next door to the Pattons, and
was always ready to help her neighbors in their domestic toils.
Her last remaining daughter, the victim of a horrible spinal dis-
ease, had died some nine or ten months before the Boyces arrived
at Mellor. Marcella had already heard the story several times;
but it was part of her social gift that she was a good listener to
such things even at the twentieth hearing.
«You wouldn't have her back, though,” she said gently, turn-
ing towards the speaker.
“No, I wouldn't have her back, miss,” said Mrs. Brunt, rais-
ing her hand to brush away a tear,– partly the result of feeling,
-
partly of a long-established habit. « But I do miss her nights
terrible! Mother, ain't it ten o'clock ? -- mother, look at the
clock, do; — mother! ain't it time for my stuff, mother ? oh, I do
hope it is. '
That was her stuff, miss, to make her sleep. And
when she'd got it, she'd groan — you'd think she couldn't be
-
asleep, and yet she was, dead-like — for two hours.
I didn't get
no rest with her, and now I don't seem to get no rest without
her. "
And again Mrs. Brunt put her hand up to her eyes.
"Ah, you were allus one for toilin' an' frettin',” said Mrs. Jel-
lison calmly. "A body must get through wi' it when it's there,
but I don't hold wi' thinkin' about it when it's done. ”
"I know one,” said old Patton slyly, “that fretted about her
darter when it didn't do her no good. ”
He had not spoken so far, but had sat with his hands on his
stick, a spectator of the women's humors. He was a little hunched
man, twisted and bent double with rheumatic gout,- the fruit of
(
(
>
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MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
15649
now
seventy years of field work. His small face was almost lost, dog-
like, under shaggy hair and overgrown eyebrows, both snow-white.
He had a look of irritable eagerness, seldom however expressed
in words. A sudden passion in the faded blue eyes; a quick spot
of red in his old cheeks: these Marcella had often noticed in him,
as though the flame of some inner furnace leapt. He had been
a Radical and a rebel once in old rick-burning days, long before
he lost the power in his limbs, and came down to be thankful
for one of the parish almshouses. To his social betters he was
a quiet and peaceable old man, well aware of the cakes
and ale to be got by good manners; but in the depths of him
there were reminiscences and the ghosts of passions, which were
still stirred sometimes by causes not always intelligible to the
bystander.
He had rarely, however, physical energy enough to bring any
emotion even of mere worry at his physical ills — to the birth.
The pathetic silence of age enwrapped him more and more. Still
he could gibe the women sometimes, especially Mrs. Jellison, who
was in general too clever for her company.
“Oh, you may talk, Patton! ” said Mrs. Jellison with a little
flash of excitement. " You do like to have your talk, don't you !
Well, I dare say I was orkard with Isabella. I won't go for to
say I wasn't orkard, for I was. She should ha' used me to 't
before, if she wor took that way. She and I had just settled
down comfortable after my old man went; and I didn't see no
sense in it, an' I don't now. She might ha' let the men alone.
She'd seen enough o' the worrit of 'em. ”
"Well, she did well for hersen," said Mrs. Brunt, with the
same gentle melancholy. “She married a stiddy man
as 'ull
keep her well all her time, and never let her want for noth-
ink. ”
"A sour, wooden-faced chap as iver I knew,” said Mrs. Jelli-
son grudgingly. "I don't have nothink to say to him, nor he
to me. He thinks hissen the Grand Turk, he do, since they
gi'en him his uniform, and made him full keeper. A nassty,
domineerin' sort, I calls him. He's allus makin' bad blood wi'
the yoong fellers when he don't need. It's the way he's got wi'
him. But I don't make no account of him, an' I let him see 't. ”
All the tea-party grinned except Mrs. Hurd. The village was
well acquainted with the feud between Mrs. Jellison and her
son-in-law, George Westall, who had persuaded Isabella Jellison,
XXVI–979
>
## p. 15650 (#604) ##########################################
15650
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
(
at the mature age of thirty-five, to leave her mother and marry
him; and was now one of Lord Maxwell's keepers, with good pay,
and an excellent cottage some little way out of the village. Mrs.
Jellison had never forgiven her daughter for deserting her, and
was on lively terms of hostility with her son-in-law: but their
only child, little Johnnie, had found the soft spot in his grand-
mother; and her favorite excitement in life, now that he was
four years old, was to steal him from his parents and feed him
on the things of which Isabella most vigorously disapproved.
Mrs. Hurd, as has been said, did not smile. At the mention
of Westall, she got up hastily and began to put away the tea
things.
Marcella meanwhile had been sitting thoughtful.
“You say Westall makes bad blood with the young men, Mrs.
Jellison ? ” she said, looking up. "Is there much poaching in this
village now, do you think ? »
There was a dead silence. Mrs. Hurd was at the other end
of the cottage with her back to Marcella; at the question, her
hands paused an instant in their work. The eyes of all the old
people — of Patton and his wife, of Mrs. Jellison, and pretty Mrs.
Brunt -- were fixed on the speaker; but nobody said a word, not
even Mrs. Jellison. Marcella colored.
"Oh, you needn't suppose – ” she said, throwing her beautiful
«
head back, “you needn't suppose that I care about the game,
or that I would ever be mean enough to tell anything that was
told me. I know it does cause a great deal of quarreling and
bad blood. I believe it does here - and I should like to know
more about it. I want to make up my mind what to think. Of
course, my father has got his land and his own opinions. And
Lord Maxwell has too. But I am not bound to think like either
of them,- I should like you to understand that. It seems to me
right about all such things that people should inquire, and find
out for themselves. ”
Still silence. Mrs. Jellison's mouth twitched, and she threw a
sly provocative glance at old Patton, as though she would have
liked to poke him in the ribs. But she was not going to help
him out; and at last the one male in the company found himself
obliged to clear his throat for reply.
“We're old folks, most on us, miss, 'cept Mrs. Hurd. We
don't hear talk o' things now like as we did when we
younger. If you ast Mr. Harden, he'll tell you, I dessay. ”
were
>
## p. 15651 (#605) ##########################################
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
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15651
Patton allowed himself an inward chuckle. Even Mrs. Jelli-
son, he thought, must admit that he knew a thing or two as to
the best way of dealing with the gentry.
But Marcella fixed him with her bright frank eyes.
“I had rather ask in the village,” she said. “If
"If you don't
know how it is now, Mr. Patton, tell me how it used to be when
you were young. Was the preserving very strict about here?
Were there often fights with the keepers, long ago ? - in my
grandfather's days ? And do you think men poached because
they were hungry, or because they wanted sport ? ”
Patton looked at her fixedly a moment, undecided: then her
strong nervous youth seemed to exercise a kind of compulsion on
him; perhaps too the pretty courtesy of her manner. He cleared
his throat again, and tried to forget Mrs. Jellison, who would be
sure to let him hear of it again, whatever he said.
“Well, I can't answer for 'em, miss, I'm sure; but if you
ast me, I b’lieve ther's a bit o' boath in it. Yer see it's not in
human natur, when a man's young and 's got his blood up, as
he shouldn't want ter have his sport with the wild creeturs. Per-
haps he see 'em when he's going to the wood with a wood cart,
or he cooms across 'em in the turnips, — wounded birds, you
understan', miss, perhaps the day after the gentry 'as been
,
bangin' at 'em all day. An' he don't see, not for the life of him,
why he shouldn't have 'em. Ther's been lots an' lots for the rich
folks, an' he don't see why ee shouldn't have a few arter they've
enjoyed theirselves. And mebbe he's eleven shillin' a week,-
an' two-threy little chillen,- you understan', miss ? ”
“Of course I understand! ” said Marcella eagerly, her dark
cheek Aushing. “Of course I do! But there's a good deal of
game given away in these parts, isn't there? I know Lord Max-
well does, and they say Lord Winterbourne gives all his laborers
rabbits, almost as many as they want. "
Her questions wound old Patton up as though he had been
a disused clock. He began to feel a whirr among his creaking
wheels, a shaking of all his rusty mind.
"Perhaps they do, miss,” he said; and his wife saw that he
was beginning to tremble. "I dessay they do—I don't say
nothink agen it though theer's none of it cooms my way. But
that isn't all the rights on it nayther; no, that it ain't. The
laborin' man ee's glad enough to get a hare or a rabbit for his
eatin'; but there's more in it nor that, miss. Ee's allus in the
»
## p. 15652 (#606) ##########################################
15652
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
fields, that's where it is; ee can't help seein' the hares and the
rabbits a-comin' in and out o' the woods, if it were iver so. Ee
knows ivery run of ivery one on 'em; if a hare's started furthest
corner o'ť field, he can tell yer whar she'll git in by, because
he's allus there, you see, miss, an' it's the only thing he's got to
take his mind off like. And then he sets a snare or two, -- an'
he gits very sharp at settin' on 'em,- an' he'll go out nights
for the sport of it. Ther isn't many things ee's got to liven
him up; an' he takes his chances o’goin' to jail; it's wuth it,
ee thinks. »
The old man's hands on his stick shook more and more visi-
bly. Bygones of his youth had come back to him.
“Oh, I know! I know ! ” cried Marcella, with an accent half
of indignation, half of despair. It's the whole wretched system.
It spoils those who've got, and those who haven't got. And
there'll be no mending it till the people get the land back again,
and till the rights on it are common to all. ”
"My! she do speak up, don't she ? ” said Mrs. Jellison, grin-
ning again at her companions. Then stooping forward with one
of her wild movements, she caught Marcella's arm: “I'd like to
hear yer tell that to Lord Maxwell, miss. I likes a roompus, I
do. ”
Marcella flushed and laughed.
“I wouldn't mind saying that or anything else to Lord Max-
well,” she said proudly. "I'm not ashamed of anything I think. ”
“No, I'll bet you ain't," said Mrs. Jellison, withdrawing her
hand. “Now then, Patton, you say what you thinks. You ain't
got no vote now you're in the parish houses — I minds that.
The quality don't trouble you at 'lection times.
man, Muster Wharton, as is goin' round so free, promisin' yer the
sun out o' the sky, iv yer'll only vote for him, so th' men say
ee don't coom an’ set down along o' you an' me, an' cocker of us
up as he do Joe Simmons or Jim Hurd here. But that don't
matter. Yur thinkin's yur own, any way. "
But she nudged him in vain. Patton had suddenly run down, ,
and there was no more to be got out of him.
Not only had nerves and speech failed him as they were wont,
but in his cloudy soul there had risen, even while Marcella was
speaking, the inevitable suspicion which dogs the relations of the
poor towards the richer class. This young lady, with her strange
talk, was the new squire's daughter. And the village had already
>
This yoong
»
## p. 15653 (#607) ##########################################
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
15653
(
a
made up its mind that Richard Boyce was a poor sort, and
hard sort” too, in his landlord capacity. He wasn't going to be
any improvement on his brother -- not a haporth! What was the
good of this young woman talking as she did, when there were
three summonses as he, Patton, heard tell — just taken out by
the sanitary inspector against Mr. Boyce for bad cottages ? And
not a farthing given away in the village neither, except perhaps
the bits of food that the young lady herself brought down to
the village now and then,- for which no one, in truth, felt any
cause to be particularly grateful. Besides, what did she mean
by asking questions about the poaching? Old Patton knew as
well as anybody else in the village, that during Robert Boyce's
last days, and after the death of his sportsman son, the Mellor
estate had become the haunt of poachers from far and near; and
that the trouble had long since spread into the neighboring prop-
erties, so that the Winterbourne and Maxwell keepers regarded
it their most arduous business to keep watch on the men of
Mellor. Of course the young woman knew it all; and she
and her father wanted to know more. That was why she talked.
Patton hardened himself against the creeping ways of the qual-
ity.
“I don't think naught,” he said roughly, in answer to Mrs.
Jellison. “Thinkin' won't come atwixt me and the parish coffin
when I'm took. I've no call to think, I tell yer. ”
Marcella's chest heaved with indignant feeling.
“Oh, but Mr. Patton! ” she cried, leaning forward to him,
“won't it comfort you a bit, even if you can't live to see it, to
think there's a better time coming ? There must be. People
can't go on like this always, - hating each other and trampling on
each other. They're beginning to see it now, they are! When I
was living in London, the persons I was with talked and thought
of it all day. Some day, whenever the people choose, - for
they've got the power now they've got the vote,- there'll be
land for everybody; and in every village there'll be a council to
manage things, and the laborer will count for just as much as
the squire and the parson, and he'll be better educated and bet-
ter fed, and care for many things he doesn't care for now. But
all the same, if he wants sport and shooting, it will be there for
him to get. For everybody will have a chance and a turn, and
there'll be no bitterness between classes, and no hopeless pining
and misery as there is now! ”
»
((
## p. 15654 (#608) ##########################################
15654
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
The girl broke off, catching her breath. It excited her to say
these things to these people, to these poor tottering old things
who had lived out their lives to the end under the pressure of
an iron system, and had no lien on the future, whatever paradise
it might bring. Again, the situation had something foreseen
and dramatic in it. She saw herself, as the preacher, sitting on
her stool beside the poor grate; she realized as a spectator the
figures of the women and the old man played on by the firelight,
the white, bare, damp-stained walls of the cottage, and in the
background the fragile though still comely form of Minta Hurd,
who was standing with her back to the dresser and her head
bent forward, listening to the talk, while her fingers twisted the
straw she plaited eternally from morning till night for a wage of
about is. 3d. a week.
Her mind was all aflame with excitement and defiance,
defiance of her father, Lord Maxwell, Aldous Raeburn. Let him
come, her friend, and see for himself what she thought it right
to do and say in this miserable village. Her soul challenged
him, longed to provoke him! Well, she was soon to meet him,
and in a new and more significant relation and environment.
The fact made her perception of the whole situation the more
rich and vibrant.
Patton, while these broken thoughts and sensations were cours-
ing through Marcella's head, was slowly revolving what she had
been saying, and the others were waiting for him.
At last he rolled his tongue round his dry lips, and delivered
himself by a final effort.
« Them as likes, miss, may believe as how things are going to
happen that way, but yer won't ketch me! Them as 'ave got
'ull keep,” — he let his stick sharply down on the floor,—“an' them
as 'aven't got 'ull 'ave to go without and lump it, as long as
you're alive, miss: you mark my words! ”
“O Lor', you wor allus one for makin' a poor mouth, Pat-
ton! ” said Mrs. Jellison. She had been sitting with her arms
folded across her chest, part absent, part amused, part mali-
cious. « The young lady speaks beautiful, just like a book, she
do. An' she's likely to know a deal better nor poor persons like
you and me. All I kin say is, - if there's goin' to be dividin' up
of other folks' property when I'm gone, I hope George Westall
won't get nothink of it! He's bad enough as 'tis. Isabella 'ud
have a fine time if ee took to drivin' of his carriage.
>
»
## p. 15655 (#609) ##########################################
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
15655
»
>
»
The others laughed out, Marcella at their head; and Mrs. Jel-
lison subsided, the corners of her mouth still twitching, and her
eyes shining as though a host of entertaining notions were troop-
ing through her, which however she preferred to amuse herself
with rather than the public. Marcella looked at Patton thought-
fully.
“You've been all your life in this village, haven't you, Mr.
Patton ? ” she asked him.
« Born top o' Witchett's Hill, miss. An' my wife here, she
wor born just a house or two further along, an' we two been
married sixty-one year come next March. ”
He had resumed his usual almshouse tone, civil and a little
plaintive. His wife behind him smiled gently at being spoken
of. She had a long fair face, and white hair surmounted by a
battered black bonnet; a mouth set rather on one side, and a
more observant and refined air than most of her neighbors. She
sighed while she talked, and spoke in a delicate quaver.
“D'ye know, miss,” said Mrs. Jellison, pointing to Mrs. Pat-
ton, as she kep' school when she was young ? ”
“Did you, Mrs. Patton ? " asked Marcella in her tone of sym-
pathetic interest. « The school wasn't very big then, I suppose ? ”
“About forty, miss,” said Mrs. Patton with a sigh. «There
was eighteen the rector paid for, and eighteen Mr. Boyce paid
for, and the rest paid for themselves. ”
Her voice dropped gently, and she sighed again like one
weighted with an eternal fatigue.
"And what did you teach them ?
“Well, I taught them the plaitin', miss, and as much readin'
and writin' as I knew myself. It wasn't as high as it is now,
you see, miss,” and a delicate flush dawned on the old cheek,
as Mrs. Patton threw a glance round her companions as though
appealing to them not to tell stories of her.
But Mrs. Jellison was implacable. "It wor she taught me,”
she said, nodding at Marcella and pointing sideways to Mrs.
Patton. “She had a queer way wi' the hard words, I can tell
When she couldn't tell 'em herself she'd never own
up to it. "Say Jerusalem, my dear, and pass on. That's what
she'd say, she would, sure's you're alive! I've heard her do it
times. An' when Isabella an’ me used to read the Bible, nights,
I'd allus rayther do 't than be beholden to me own darter. It
gets yer through, anyway. ”
»
(
yer, miss.
(
## p. 15656 (#610) ##########################################
15656
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
(c
>
-
(
»
"Well, it wor a good word,” said Mrs. Patton, blushing and
mildly defending herself. “It didn't do none of yer any harm. ”
“Oh, an' before her, miss, I went to a school to another woman,
as lived up Shepherd's Row. You remember her, Betsy Brunt ? »
Mrs. Brunt's worn eyes began already to gleam and sparkle.
«Yis, I recolleck very well, Mrs. Jellison. She wor Mercy
Moss; an' a goodish deal of trouble you'd use to get me into wi'
Mercy Moss, all along o' your tricks. ”
Mrs. Jellison, still with folded arms, began to rock herself
gently up and down as though to stimulate memory.
«My word, but Muster Maurice — he wor the clergyman here
then, miss — wor set on Mercy Moss. He and his wife they flat-
tered and cockered her up. Ther wor nobody like her for keepin'
school, not in their eyes — till one midsummer - she — well, she
- I don't want to say nothink onpleasant — but she transgressed,”
said Mrs. Jellison, nodding mysteriously,- triumphant however in
the unimpeachable delicacy of her language, and looking round
the circle for approval.
What do you say? " asked Marcella innocently. “What did
Mercy Moss do ? »
Mrs. Jellison's eyes danced with malice and mischief, but
her mouth shut like a vise. Patton leaned forward on his stick,
shaken with a sort of inward explosion; his plaintive wife laughed
under her breath till she must needs sigh, because laughter tired
her old bones. Mrs. Brunt gurgled gently. And finally Mrs. Jel-
lison was carried away.
"Oh, my goodness me, don't you make me tell tales o' Mercy
Moss! ” she said at last, dashing the water out of her eyes with
an excited tremulous hand. She's been dead and gone these
forty year, - married and buried mos' respeckable,- it 'ud be a
burning shame to bring up tales agen her now. Them as tittle-
tattles about dead folks needn't look to lie quiet theirselves in
their graves.
I've said it times, and I'll say it again. What are
you lookin' at me for, Betsy Brunt ? »
And Mrs. Jellison drew up suddenly with a fierce glance at
Mrs. Brunt.
«Why, Mrs. Jellison, I niver meant no offense,” said Mrs.
Brunt hastily.
“I won't stand no insinooating,” said Mrs. Jellison with
”
energy. “If you've got soomthink agen me, you may out wi' 't
anniver mind the young lady. ”
((
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## p. 15657 (#611) ##########################################
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
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>
But Mrs. Brunt, much furried, retreated amid a shower of
excuses, pursued by her enemy, who was soon worrying the
whole little company as a dog worries a flock of sheep; snap-
ping here and teasing there, chattering at the top of her voice
in broad dialect as she got more and more excited, and quite as
ready to break her wit on Marcella as on anybody else. As for
the others, most of them had known little else for weeks than
alternations of toil and sickness; they were as much amused and
excited to-night by Mrs. Jellison's audacities as a Londoner is by
his favorite low comedian at his favorite music-hall. They ved
chorus to her, laughed, baited her; even old Patton was drawn
against his will into a caustic sociability.
Marcella meanwhile sat on her stool, her chin upon her hand,
and her full glowing eyes turned upon the little spectacle, absorb-
ing it all with a covetous curiosity.
The light-heartedness, the power of enjoyment, left in these
old folk, struck her dumb. Mrs. Brunt had an income of two-
and-sixpence a week, plus two loaves from the parish, and one
of the parish or charity houses,-a hovel, that is to say, of
»
one room, scarcely fit for human habitation at all. She had lost
five children, was allowed two shillings a week by two laborer
sons, and earned sixpence a week — about — by continuous work
at "the plait. ” Her husband had been run over by a farm cart
and killed; up to the time of his death his earnings averaged
about twenty-eight pounds a year. Much the same with the
Pattons. They had lost eight children out of ten, and were
now mainly supported by the wages of a daughter in service.
Mrs. Patton had of late years suffered agonies and humiliations
indescribable, from a terrible illness which the parish doctor was
quite incompetent to treat; being all through a singularly sensi-
tive woman, with a natural instinct for the decorous and the beau-
tiful.
Amazing! Starvation wages; hardships of sickness and pain;
horrors of birth and horrors of death; wholesale losses of kindred
and friends; the meanest surroundings; the most sordid cares,-
of this mingled cup of village fate every person in the room had
drunk, and drunk deep. Yet here in this autumn twilight they
laughed and chattered and joked, — weird, wrinkled children, en-
joying an hour's rough play in a clearing of the storm! Depend-
ent from birth to death on squire, parson, parish, crushed often
and ill-treated according to their own ideas, but bearing so little
## p. 15658 (#612) ##########################################
15658
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
ill-will; amusing themselves with their own tragedies even, if
they could but sit by a fire and drink a neighbor's cup of tea.
Her heart swelled and burned within her. Yes, the old
people were past hoping for; mere wreck and driftwood on the
shore, the springtide of death would soon have swept them all
into unremembered graves. But the young men and women, the
children, were they too to grow up, and grow old like these, –
the same smiling, stunted, ignobly submissive creatures ? One
woman at least would do her best with her one poor life to rouse
some of them to discontent and revolt!
DAVID AND ELISE
From "The History of David Grieve. ) Copyright 1891, by Macmillan & Co.
D
Avid stared at Elise. He had grown very pale. She too was
white to the lips. The violence and passion of her speech
had exhausted her; her hands trembled in her lap. A
wave of emotion swept through him. Her words were inso-
lently bitter: why then this impression of something wounded
and young and struggling, - at war with itself and the world, -
proclaiming loneliness and sehnsucht, while it fung anger and
reproach?
He dropped on one knee, hardly knowing what he did. Most
of the students about had left their work for a while; no one was
in sight but a gardien whose back was turned to them, and a
young man in the remote distance. He picked up a brush she
had let fall, pressed it into her reluctant hand, and laid his fore-
head against the hand for an instant.
“You misunderstand me,” he said, with a broken, breathless
utterance. "You are quite wrong — quite mistaken.
There are
not such thoughts in me as you think. The world matters noth-
ing to me either. I am alone too; I have always been alone.
You meant everything that was heavenly and kind - you must
have meant it. I am a stupid idiot! But I could be your friend
- if you would permit it. ”
He spoke with an extraordinary timidity and slowness. He
forgot all his scruples, all pride — everything. As he knelt there,
so close to her delicate slimness, to the curls on her white neck,
to the quivering lips and great defiant eyes, she seemed to him
once more a being of another clay from himself - beyond any
## p. 15659 (#613) ##########################################
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
15659
criticism his audacity could form. He dared hardly touch her;
and in his heart there swelled the first irrevocable wave of young
passion.
She raised her hand impetuously and began to paint again.
But suddenly a tear dropped on to her knee. She brushed it
away, and her wild smile broke.
« Bah! ” she said: “what a scene, what a pair of children!
What was it all about? I vow I haven't an idea. You are an
excellent farceur, Monsieur David! One can see well that you
have read George Sand. ”
He sat down on a little three-legged stool she had brought
with her, and held her box open on his knee.
